Calling the Shots
by Pivot
Summary: Armada: Globetrotting with instatravel in the company of giant alien robots may be fun, but there's always a price, and someone or something willing to make you pay.


_Disclaimer: They're not mine; nothing is, not even the syringe._

_I'm back, and this makes me happy. And the fics are on the move, which also makes me happy. And purports to have given us the gift of forums, thus I glee like a mad(dening) thing._

_Short and silly. My excuse: Technicalities are fun! I couldn't help myself! (And hey, I did resist the temptation to actually _give_ someone dysentery...)_

_And, hey, reviewers? Do crit. I don't bite. No, really. That would be bad form. My inner "Jolly good!"-calling-gentleman would never stand for reviewer-bashing…_

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**Calling the Shots **

It had to be done.

It really did. Makeshift had checked, and thoroughly. It was necessary, all right. He'd mentioned it to Red Alert, who had agreed with him, although technically, technically, it didn't matter anyway because Makeshift was registered as being in charge of all things medical on the ship, and nobody had thought to update the crew listings. And the fact that the ship was spread across two major planetary bodies and that the remains of this half were buried in solid rock did nothing to change that.

Actually, if it did anything, it would increase his authority because this was, technically, an emergency rescue operation, which was his specialty.

He viewed his latest patients as Long Arm closed the door behind them. They appeared utterly bewildered as to why they were here. They were also upbeat.

Well, that wouldn't last.

"So, what do you guys want?"

"Yeah, we've gotta go say hi to Hot Shot."

"Well," Long Arm glanced at Makeshift, "we wanted to catch you before went off on any missions. There's… uh, something we need to you to do."

"Sure!" said one. "What is it?"

"You can't go on missions with the Autobots – or anyone else, come to that," Makeshift said quickly. He went on before they could protest. "Just for now! It's too dangerous."

"Awww!"

"Hey, what're you worrying about? The Decepticons can't touch us with the Autobots around!"

"Yeah!"

They faced down five mutinous stares – well, four. The fifth appeared to be nodding in place.

"Decepticons?" Long Arm asked innocently. "Who_ever_ said anything about _Decepticons_?"

"Huh?"

"The Autobots can handle Decepticons. Decepticons aren't the problem. The problem – problem_s_ – include vipers, frogs, landslides, quicksand, flash floods, at least eleven types of flu, sleeping sickness, malaria, ebola, dengue fever, rubella, measles, typhoid, cholera, tuberculosis, sea snakes, stonefish, slippery rocks, seaweed, tetanus, foxglove, yellow fever, rabies, sunstroke, chilblains, oxygen deprivation, bubonic plague, diptheria…" Long Arm gave them a particularly bright-opticed look. "…Dysentery."

Billy gulped. The others blinked.

Makeshift took up the point. "This planet is _covered_ in unpleasant ways for humans to die: billions of organisms who've survived this long by feeding off the human body, endless possibilities for you to run afoul of inhospitable geography – not to mention your fellow man. Never mind the Decepticons; this planet's been killing off humans in nasty ways since before the race existed, and you're travelling to hundreds of places in a short space of time with absolutely no immunity to the local bugs."

They were still staring, but there wasn't much mutiny in their faces. Possibly because they were trying to work out where this was going.

"So," he went on, "before any of you can go on any more missions, you'll all have to get through a comprehensive immunisation programme."

"What?" Billy looked blank.

"They're gonna stick lots of needles in us," muttered Fred.

"Aw, man!"

"You've just got out of hospital, Carlos," said Makeshift sternly. "I would think you, of all people, knows how hard it is to explain localised frostbite to your family."

"In the middle of a hot summer, too," added Long Arm.

"Do we have to?" Nervous. Why was everyone so reluctant to be saved around here?

"Yes," he said firmly. "Or – and believe me, I can – I'll revoke any and all of your warp gate privileges. And before you try to get help, I must warn you that the Street Action Team is on our side."

The gloommeter reading in the room rose by about two units.

Long Arm leaned forward to peer at the fifth human. "And Alexis needs to go home. She doesn't look well at all." He glanced at the other Minicon. "Bet it's flu. It didn't stop raining on that last mission."

Makeshift nodded. "Could be a slight fever. I'll get started on the others if you'll get her to Sureshock."

"Deal. Where is she?"

"Down on Level Three. Training with Spiral," he added, by way of warning

"Gotcha." Long Arm gently steered the dazed human out of the door, tapping the keypad on his way out.

The others eyed Makeshift as he selected a syringe and prepared for the first injection. Billy surreptitiously sidled over to the door.

"It's locked," said the medic, hearing each step. "Now, Rad, take a seat, please. Perhaps you can show the others how it's done."

"Uh, sure…"

Ten minutes later, Makeshift let them out. "I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said.

Carlos looked up from rubbing his arm. "What?"

"There are other injections, you know."

"How many?" asked Fred, looking worried.

"Oh, enough to last you a few weeks."

"A few weeks!"

"We'll miss all the fun!"

"Then I suggest you buy Laserbeak something nice," said Makeshift, "since you'll be depending on his good will to, ah, keep up with the action." _Oh, is it good to be in charge. _"Good day to you all."

The boys looked at each other as the door closed behind him.

"Now what?" asked Rad.

There was a pause.

"I know where we can get a lens-cleaning set," suggested Fred.


End file.
